


Billy Hargrove: Possessed Trash Bandit

by peterqpan



Series: Harringrove Works [8]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, no sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan
Summary: Steve wasn't expecting what he found when he wandered out to check on a loud noise...late at night...after Billy died, at Starmall.For Flashmountain, who wanted hugs
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove Works [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003
Comments: 19
Kudos: 100





	Billy Hargrove: Possessed Trash Bandit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlashMountain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashMountain/gifts).



Steve was always aware of the motion lights around the swimming pool, after Barb. He’d stood at the ready, like an idiot, menacing maple leaves that had fluttered in front of the sensor. He'd inflicted mutual terror on at least five deer, and the evening a Canada goose landed clumsily on his roof, thudding and scraping as it rolled the entire way down, he nearly batted it into Christmas dinner. 

He was immediately aware when the lurching human being crept from the door to the Upside-Down in the tree by his pool. 

At first he just grabbed his bat, wondering why he didn’t screw a piece of plywood over the hole, or at least wrap the whole tree in duct tape, but he registered a human head, and _hair,_ and—and it wasn’t like the figure was menacing anyone, stumbling around Steve’s pool, finishing off the leftover beers and a half-box of Cheez-its. He waited until it had shaken the box three times, and pulled out the bag, scraping long broken fingernails inside the Cheez-it box looking for more. 

“Got some cold pizza inside,” he said, from the shadows, and the figure stumbled back, shielding its face. 

“What,” it asked hoarsely, and Steve recognized the voice. 

The bat nearly slid from his fingers. “Hargrove?!” It—Billy Hargrove, who was supposed to be _dead—_ flinched, and Steve lowered the bat. “Billy,” Steve tried. “Let—lemme call someone. Hopper. Your sister Max, she thinks you’re dead—”

Billy shook his head violently, holding his hands up, and Steve dropped the bat. 

“Come here,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “...come inside,” he whispered, thinking of Max, sitting alone on Billy’s bed in his empty room, and Eleven, who Billy had sacrified himself to save. “Come get some food.”

Billy lowered his hands, so Steve finally stepped closer, grabbing a thin, dirty hand, cold in his grip. 

“Jesus, Billy, are you even alive?” 

Billy lowered his head. He _looked_ alive, as Steve squinted into the darkness. His skin was scarred everywhere with dark lines, and his lips and nails were blue, but he was breathing, and he shivered as Steve pressed his fingers under the dangling earring, checking for a pulse.

“Come on, Billy,” Steve tugged him forward. “Come inside.”

He’d lost weight, but Billy Hargrove was still the guy who’d spent his free time lifting weights, so Steve pulling at his wrist wasn’t getting them any closer to the house. 

“I’m going to pick you up if you don’t walk,” he said, finally, and Billy stumbled a couple of steps forward before nearly losing his balance again. He was barefoot, Steve registered, in the _snow,_ and he pinched the bridge of his nose before bending to sling an arm around Billy’s waist, and haul him over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. 

He plonked him in the kitchen—pushing him into a chair when he swayed alarmingly—and handed over the pizza box to watch Billy fall upon it like a dog that finds something disgusting in the yard and wants to eat as much as possible before you tell it no. Four slices in, he started to slow down, cold-sweating, pressing his fingers to his mouth, and hunching his shoulders, so Steve slid the pizza box away. He pulled the half-eaten piece from Billy’s unresisting hand. 

“Jesus,” Steve told him, softening his voice as Billy twitched. “Don’t make yourself puke.”

Billy didn’t want hot water—as a shower or bath—and nearly dropped the cider Steve made him, from the instant packets Steve’s boss had tucked in everyone’s locker with one stingy wrap of curling ribbon and no bow. He turned back from the microwave to see Billy fiddling with the ribbon, frowning vaguely. 

Steve pressed Billy’s bluish fingers around the mug, turning away to frown out the window at the pool, then swung back around at Billy’s hiss as he spilled the cider. Steve steadied his hands. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I’m gonna get you a blanket, at least—” he made it two steps towards the living room, when his shirt slid down over his shoulder, its cuff in Billy’s fist. 

Billy let go, closing his eyes, and Steve stared at him, then rubbed his face, and crouched next to Billy’s chair. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You get that?”

Billy didn’t react, but when Steve grabbed the down comforter he’d drug downstairs for when he was too lazy to go to bed, he turned away from the couch and smacked into Billy, standing inches away. 

_“Holy_ shit,” Steve shouted, and Billy flinched again, stumbling away, so Steve grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around him, pulling him back towards the couch. He shoved his new—roommate?! down onto the couch, tucked the comforter around him, and held up a finger. “Stay,” he said firmly. “Stay there. Gonna get the nail clippers. Okay?”

The blanket crumpled as Billy clutched at it, but he didn’t reply. 

_“Stay,”_ Steve repeated, running to the bathroom. When he walked back in the front room, Billy’d slid off the couch. He was in a pile of comforter between the couch and the coffee table, his eyes darting.

“...Harrington,” he whispered hoarsely. “Why are you here. We—we have to go, they—they’ll come back—”

“Jesus,” Steve said, for what felt like the seventieth time. “You’re back. You’re in my house, you’re safe.” He knelt in front of the pile of blanket.

“What do you mean, I’m back,” Billy hissed, reaching out to grab his hand. “We can’t—we can’t stay here. I can—I can take you somewhere safer—”

“You’re safe already,” Steve argued, squeezing Billy’s hand, and clipping the nails that were _most_ torn. 

“It’s not safe where there are lights,” Billy tried to stand without letting go of Steve’s hand to push himself up, and didn’t get very far. “Harrington, you _fucking moron,_ what are you _doing_ here, you have to _listen,_ I know I’m gonna sound crazy—there are monsters here, Harrington,” he shook Steve’s arm, swallowing. “Monsters worse than me. They’ll come for you—”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Steve gathered him up again, half carrying the Billy-burrito to the wall to switch off the lights. 

“...how did you make the lights go off,” Billy asked, wide-eyed, and almost fell, and Steve put both arms around him. 

“I have magic monster fighting powers,” he told him, trying not to laugh, but Billy’s eyes teared up, and he swallowed hard, grabbing at Steve’s shirt again. 

“Help,” he whispered. “Please. I know I’m—I know I’m another monster—”

“I’ll use my magic to protect you,” Steve told him, pushing him back onto the couch. “You’re safe, Billy.”

“You’re gonna get tired,” Billy whispered, settling in a fluffy lump against him. “Wake me up before you go, don’t just—don’t fucking leave me here—”

Steve could feel him shaking through the comforter, and he leaned closer. “I magicked this space safe,” he told Billy, who nodded, taking in a shaky sigh. He smelled like rusted metal, or possibly blood, and rot. The dark veins across his cheek and neck didn’t look as dark as they had, out in the snow.

“...I’m not even hungry here,” Billy mumbled, and Steve put an arm around him, squeezing, and wrinkling his nose as Billy’s voice rumbled under his chin. “How long can I stay?”

“Oh,” Steve stared at the tangled hair leaning against his shoulder. “Uh, I need you. I’m gonna pull you back through a magic doorway while you’re asleep, okay, buddy?”

Billy nodded, closing his eyes again, but grabbed Steve’s hand through the blanket. “O-okay. I’ll—whatever you—what do you want me to do? Can I—” he swallowed. “How long can you keep me out of here?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, pulling Billy Hargrove, surreally, into a two-armed tight hug. “No, you’re mine now, okay? You stay with me, and I’ll use my magic to keep you safe.”

“I can’t use magic,” Billy whispered against Steve’s chest, his eyes fixed on the window, and Steve squeezed him tighter. 

“All you need to do is trust me,” he told him. “Just trust me,” he whispered against Billy’s nodding head. 

Steve snuck off to pee either late that night or early the next morning, and returned to find Billy sitting up, looking around. “You did it,” he laughed shakily. “You came and got me. What—what do I need to do?”

“Jesus,” Steve muttered to himself, again. “How much do you remember?”

“You saved me, because you need me for something,” Billy said, shivering. He pulled the blanket back up around him, rubbing his arms. His eyes were clear, and looking around curiously, and Steve bit his lips, uncertain whether to drop the lie yet. 

“Yeah, um...you want a shower?” he asked, cautiously, and Billy groaned. 

“If there’s time, yeah, holy shit. Can I—can I take one?”

“I’ll get you a towel and sweatsuit,” Steve said, dodging the issue of Billy’s view of reality. “It’s through there. You need me to help you walk?”

Billy shook his head, biting his lips. “If I open that door and you vanish, I’m gonna cry,” he said matter-of-factly, then laughed. “You won’t care, if you’re not real, though, will you?”

“I’m real,” Steve told him, pulling him up by one hand. “Want me to call your sister while you’re in the shower?”

“Shit,” Billy said, and snorted. “I—” he swallowed, rubbing his face. “Am—am I going to jail? I killed those people. God, I’m not even—they can’t put a monster on trial, they’ll shoot me in the head—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve interrupted Billy’s weirdly calm theorizing. “I won’t call anybody, we can talk about it later. Shower first. Here you go, through here.” Billy nodded, then made a high noise in his throat as Steve shut the bathroom door between them.

Steve blinked at it, then wrinkled his nose, and asked, “You, uh, you need me in there while you piss, or—”

“No,” Billy laughed. “No, I’m fine.” He was still laughing a little, against the door, as Steve walked away, but halfway through rummaging through his drawers, Steve heard him yelling “Harrington! Steve Harrington!” and ran down to smack the flat of his hand a few times against the door. 

“I’m here, you’re in my house, you’re safe!” he shouted back, and didn’t hear a reply, so he took a deep breath and opened the door on Billy wedged in the corner of the shower, staring at him with wide-dilated eyes.

“Billy,” Steve whispered, and he inhaled sharply. 

“Water’s cold,” he whispered. “Did you put me back? Am—am I—” he looked around, his thinner, scarred chest panting with shallow breaths.

“No! I can’t. And you’re fine, it just takes forever to heat up.” Steve took a deep breath and shoveled more bullshit onto the lie pile, reaching in to turn off the shower. “I used most of my magic to bring you out,” he told Billy solemnly, and received a tight nod. “I—I can't even do that. I can’t put you back, no matter, um, no matter what you do. And I, uh, I made a bunch of spells. Here. On my house, so that can’t happen. And me. And my, uh, Hawkins. You’re safe. Super safe.”

“Th-thank you,” Billy let his head lean back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Fuck."

“I’m gonna order us some food,” Steve told him, having checked the time, and found it later than he thought.

Billy started giggling. “Can’t _order takeout_ in there,” he was mumbling to himself as Steve left. 

Steve ordered about four extra things to stuff Billy with, then looked around his house. Billy yelled his name every few minutes, and Steve answered, feeling like he was playing Marco Polo. The thought of bringing Billy to bed was _...weird,_ so he hauled the air mattress in, and made it up next to his bed, then scrabbled at his hair, and hauled his homework downstairs. 

When Billy came out, his scars and skin pink and healthy, he followed Steve’s gaze and smirked, flexing his biceps. Steve rolled his eyes and waved at his spread textbooks. “What I need from you is help with the homework,” he told Billy. “Max said you were smart.” 

She hadn’t, but Steve didn’t want to imagine what kind of tasks he’d need Billy Hargrove enough to summon him like an evil genie, so they’d just have to stumble through Steve’s calculus. 

“What,” Billy stared at the books and papers.

“Nancy dumped me and it’s weird now,” Steve told him, truthfully enough. “You can do whatever you want as long as you try to help me, uh, edit this essay.”

“...why would you—”

“It was hard work bringing you back,” Steve just let the bullshit train take him, the feeling familiar from talking to girlfriend’s parents about why his own were always busy. Handily, waving a magic wand to rescue a dead guy sounded about as likely as finding him half-naked outside, rooting through the trash like a raccoon. “I fell behind on schoolwork. Got you out as fast as I could. So, uh, will you help me?”

“How can you be magic and that shitty at essays,” Billy squinted at him, allowing himself to be pushed into a chair. “...you were trying to bring me back?” he asked, wandering closer. “...why would you…”

Steve tried to imagine having magic powers, and also derail this from looking too generous. “You did most of it yourself. Stayed alive, found the door.”

When the Chinese food arrived, Billy was standing waaay too close again, and Steve returned to the table and just sat against him, feeling him relax. “You’re safe,” he said. It was becoming a habit. “You’re with me, I’ll keep you safe. Want an eggroll?”

Billy nodded, watching him, and Steve put his arm around Billy’s waist, rather than squish it between them. 

“...I don’t remember all of this,” Billy said after a while, his tone bleak, and Steve reached up automatically to squeeze his shoulders. 

“We got time,” he said, noticing Billy’s ears and cheeks turning red, and wondering whether it was the heat from the shower, finally circulating everywhere. “I’ve got you, remember?”

“Yeah,” Billy laughed, quirking his mouth. “You’ll keep me safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want more Harringrove for BLM? =D Contact me on Tumblr at [Platypan the writer!](https://platypanthewriter.tumblr.com/) Subscribe to the Harringrove without everything else at [Unrelated Harringrove Works Series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624003)
> 
> Also, I lovelovelove hearing from people! Kudos! Short comments! Long comments! Questions! Constructive criticism! Comments as extra kudos! Talk to each other! Talk to me! =D Thank you, thank you for reading this far! XD I try to reply to each one, but if you don't want a response to your comment then please say "No reply please" or "Whisper" so I'll know not to reply.


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